Donal Mahoney

Crackling Again Poem by Donal Mahoney

This brilliant winter morning findswaves of snow on every lawnand red graffiti drippingfrom the wallsof Temple Mizpahonce againas down the street stroll ancient menwho every morningshuffle here for prayer.

As usual, they're lost inside old overcoats, their collars up, their scarves too long, their yarmulkes, as always, in diffidenceaskew.

This morning, though, they don't go in.They shuffle near the curblike quail.They can't believe the goose-step scrawlon every wall.They know their world'sawry again, an encoreof the chaos left behindwhen they were young.

The good thing is, Chicago's better now than was Berlin back then even though the temple wallsmake clear this morning thatsomeone's struck another matchand the ovens of Auschwitzare crackling again.